


Facade

by SpaceguyLewis



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gen, Headcanon, Lengthy Character Description, self-examination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-07
Packaged: 2018-05-05 11:14:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5373290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceguyLewis/pseuds/SpaceguyLewis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just what does Delta look like under his helmet?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Facade

**Author's Note:**

> This was written on my phone in less than an hour, so please forgive any grammatical/spelling errors.

A thought had been itching at Delta since those few stressful minutes in the Atlantic Express security booth, borne by Lamb's disdainful words to him - _I watched you put a gun to your head and pull the trigger_.

He knew from recent events that no mere bullet could penetrate the heavy brass of his helmet - the worst it would do is put a nasty dent in the tarnished metal. So how did Lamb kill him those many years ago? Perhaps his helmet could be removed? Delta remembered nothing from those years before his resurrection.

Which led to this strange scene in a heavily defended bathroom in the Sinclair Deluxe. Dozens of trap rivets studded the doorway and outer rooms of his chosen suite - they were the best emergency countermeasures he had on hand.

Delta faced the cracked, filthy mirror, his porthole bathing the grubby room in golden light. He reached upwards with slightly trembling hands and began to loosen the twin air hoses. Once they fell limply over his shoulders like strands of kelp, he reached over his broad shoulders and pulled on the quick-release levers between his shoulder blades. There was a hiss as the pressure within the helmet equalized with that of Rapture, and Delta pulled the heavy helmet up over the top of his head and set it on the floor before finally looking up into the mirror.

Delta very nearly bellowed in fright, as the scarred, tumor-warped visage he was expecting was curiously absent.

In its place, a sharp-cheeked Neptune gazed back at him with warmly glowing golden eyes. Minuscule indigo scales glittered with iridescence at the slightest movement. Glittering filigree lines the same gold of his eyes crisscrossed his skin with designs uncannily similar to the Art Decoratif style Rapture itself had been sculpted with. Centered on his 'third eye' was a small, yet unmistakable symbol: a Delta constructed of countless filigree lines.

Even curiouser than the scales and lights of his skin were what had replaced his hair - if Delta ever had any to begin with. Three symmetrical pairs of jade-green fins had sprouted from the top of his forehead, ran over his scalp and down his neck, balanced by a single, tall fin at the center. They were constructed in a similar fashion to those of a swordfish's dorsal fin - tall at the front before gently sloping as they went on. Every few fin-rays were crowned by tiny golden bulbs, and Delta realized that he didn't lack eyebrows as he first expected - they were each made of a dozen or so thin filaments spaced relatively evenly and studded at the ends with more small, glowing bulbs.

 _I am handsome as fuck,_ Delta realized suddenly. Then heat rose to his cheeks, and the dots and lines on his face washed from gold to pale pink. As far as he knew, he wasn't much of a narcissist, but he freely admitted that he was most likely the best looking Alpha Series in Rapture. Delta spent a few minutes poking at his face and wriggling his fins before coming back to himself. Even with all his defensive precautions, he was still up the Rapture Family's shit creek with no paddle, so he'd best get a move on.

He gathered his helmet and put it back on, checking that the pressure seals were in working order before reattaching the air hoses to their respective valves. Delta then exited the bathroom, gathering his trap rivets as he went. As the Alpha Series walked up a pile of splintered wood and concrete rubble, he suddenly cracked up, the attempt at laughter making his ruined vocal chords ache. Lamb - as per usual - had been wrong about him yet again: he wasn't a man anymore, glory knew, but he did indeed have a face. And if someone forced a mirror on him, well, he couldn't complain.

**Author's Note:**

> also Delta is handsome under that helmet because i don't give a fuck  
> edit: may or may not get art in the next few months


End file.
